


it's always darkest just before it goes totally black

by NinthFeather



Series: Gundam 00 A-Team AU [2]
Category: Gundam 00
Genre: 1970s, A-Team AU, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack and Angst, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Illegal Activities, Vietnam War, still not apologizing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinthFeather/pseuds/NinthFeather
Summary: Five informal debriefs, over the years.Set in my A-Team fusion-verse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Gundam 00 week Day Five, “Five Times.” Title is a quote from A-Team Episode 6, “The Rabbit Who Ate Las Vegas.” 
> 
> My weird crack AU fusion-verse is now actually a ‘verse. I’d apologize, but also I’m still not that sorry.
> 
> Warnings in the end note.

_May 10, 1970_

Neil found a clear patch of mud near headquarters and angled the Jeep into it, then turned around in his seat to regard the rest of his team.

They blinked back at him. 

“We’re either getting a medal of honor or a psych eval for that one, boys,” he said, in a tone of faint disbelief.

“I already _had_ one, can I be excused?” Allelujah asked.  His battered, non-regulation baseball cap had reappeared halfway through the mission and was now sitting crookedly on his head.

“That’s not how those work,” Soran said, voice flat.  He would have been intimidating, if he hadn’t been wearing the quartermaster’s latest attempt to find him a uniform that actually fit.  The effort wasn’t going well, so far.

“I gave you a plan,” Neil tried again.

“And we executed it,” Tieria said, with what Neil felt was an unreasonably level tone.  His glasses were mud-splattered, and yet he still seemed to be looking down at Neil over their frames.

“You nearly executed _yourselves_ , and me with you!” Neil said. 

“Aren’t we supposed to improvise in the field?” Soran asked.

“There’s improvising in the field, and then there’s—there’s—whatever _that_ was!” Neil managed.

A hint of ice crept into Tieria’s tone.  “Well then, perhaps you would like to specify what constitutes appropriate improvisation,” he said.  “So that there is no further confusion.”

Neil met his glare head on.

“For one thing, we don’t use the Jeep as a battering ram unless someone is about to _die_ ,” Neil said.  “It is _not_ a first option.”

“But—“ Allelujah started.

“I’m not finished, Captain,” Neil snapped.

Allelujah shut his mouth and sat back in his seat. 

“Second, as your commanding officer, I am to know about all weapons you are carrying with you,” Neil continued.

“I understand your concerns, but can you really argue with the results?” Tieria asked.

“ _All weapons_ ,” Neil repeated.  “I don’t know where the _hell_ you got that bomb, but I feel it is my right to know when I am in the same vehicle as a device that can obliterate me and anything else within a half-dozen yards.”

“Understood,” Tieria said, petulant.

“I’m carrying four combat knives you don’t know about,” Soran said.  “None of them are regulation.”

“Kindly explain the relevance of this to me, Corporal?” Neil asked.

“You asked us to tell you about the weapons we were carrying,” Allelujah said.  “He’s actually following orders for once.  Incidentally, does a lighter count as a weapon?”

“In your hands, probably,” Tieria said darkly.

“I don’t want to hear it from the guy who brought in a bomb without telling our CO,” Allelujah retorted, grinning.

“On the subject of bombs,” Neil said loudly, hoping to get them all back on track, “once you have set them, you will vacate the premises and inform all members of your team to do the same, as soon as is reasonably possible.”

“I needed to be sure it was working,” Soran said.  “And then I got distracted by a couple of guys trying to disarm it.”

“Next time, worry more about whether you’ll get blown up, kid,” Neil said.  “If we’d gotten out of there much later, we’d have been in the blast radius.”

Soran just scowled.  “I’ll do better.”

“Please,” Neil said.  “Now, we’re going to go debrief. And I refuse to explain any of this. You three are on your own.”

“You’re the CO, you’re responsible,” Soran said cheekily.

“I can have you court-martialed at any time, you know that?”

“At least then, I won’t be _here_ ,” Soran replied, practically stomping toward headquarters.

“He’s hit his rebellious phase,” Allelujah said, shrugging, with a soft little grin.

Tieria just huffed in annoyance.

* * *

 

_September 20, 1972_

Searchlights, mounted on poured concrete guard towers, lit up the night, sweeping across chain-link fences, stretches of dried-up grass, and patches of brush.  They cast odd, ever-moving shadows on the California redwood forest that cut the prison off from the rest of the world—and on the escaped prisoners using it as a hiding place.

Neil took advantage of one of the sweeps to attempt a headcount, then quickly ducked down farther behind one of the thicker trees.

“Where’s Alle?” he asked.  “Did anyone see him?”

“He’s not here,” Tieria said.  “He’s in the secure ward of a psychiatric hospital in San Bernardino.”

“So they bought the insanity plea,” Neil said. 

“Was it something they really needed to _buy_?” Soran asked.

“Where’d you come up with that information, anyhow?” Neil asked.

“I got into their files on my way out,” Tieria said.  “I studied computers before I got called up, remember?”  His expression got a little distant.  “I would _kill_ someone to have an hour uninterrupted on one of those machines; those things were _miles_ ahead of anything we had at Perdue when I was an undergrad.”

“Speaking of that, no one actually killed anyone, did they?”  Neil asked carefully.

“You know, you _can_ just direct those sorts of questions at me,” Soran said, tone flat. 

“I honestly wasn’t,” Neil said quickly.  “This is…not an ideal situation.  The odds weren’t the best.  I know you wouldn’t have killed our own people deliberately, but in the middle of a battle, if it came down to your own life or someone else’s…”

“Well, it didn’t,” Soran said, voice still a bit tight.  “I didn’t.  I don’t think anyone will even need an ambulance, unless the head injuries were more serious than I intended.”

“I was also able to avoid fatal injuries,” Tieria said. 

“What about you two?” Neil asked.  “Are you okay?  That wasn’t an easy fight, and we were in there a week.  I haven’t seen either of you since that sham of a court-martial…”

“Can we…not do this, now?” Tieria said, softly.

“What?” Neil asked, playing innocent.

“Talk about our feelings in the woods, yards away from a horde of people who want to drag us back to military prison,” Tieria said.  “If I have to have emotions let me do it at a safe distance from the people chasing us.”

“I have the weirdest urge to agree with you,” Soran said.

“Will miracles never cease,” Neil said, feeling something like joy for the first time in much too long.  “I’m trusting you two to tell me if you’re injured, though.”

“Bruises,” Soran said. 

“Same for me,” Tieria said. “You?”

“I might have done something to my wrist, but it’s not hurting enough to slow me down, so,” Neil shrugged.  “Other than that, just bruising.  All right, then, weapons check?”

“I stole a pistol off a guard,” Soran said.  “It’s not ideal, but I’m armed at least.”

“I have a ‘Congratulations on Escaping Prison’ present for you, Soran,” Tieria said, grinning.  He pulled out a knife.  “Found it on one of the guards outside my cell.”

“Thank you,” Soran breathed, taking the knife, hilt first, and actually smiling just a bit.

“I found a machine gun for myself, of course,” Tieria added.  “I trust you located a rifle?”

Neil grinned.  “Not quite sniper quality, but it’ll do.”  He adjusted the strap attached to the weapon over his shoulder.

“They might see us in the searchlight if we start moving again,” he warned.  “In which case we’ll need the weapons.”                                                                   

“Not if we keep to the shadows,” Tieria said.  “We knew how to do this in Vietnam.  At least this terrain isn’t a swamp!”

“Good point!” Neil replied, and moved into a ready stance, hand poised to give the signal to move once the searchlight passed again.

* * *

 

_March 8, 1973_

Neil leaned over the desk, scattering some poor undergrads’ ungraded papers.  “How did you _do_ that?”

“Skill,” Professor Kujo all but chirped in barely-accented English, smirking at him over a glass of wine.

There was still sunlight spilling into the room.  It was roughly three in the afternoon.  The most beautiful plan he’d ever helped execute had been concocted by a daydrinking history professor.

 _What the hell_ , Neil thought.

“I confess to a certain amount of curiosity myself,” Tieria put in.  “There’s no way you could have known how large that Basque resistance group was—”

“And yet I did.”

“Or that they would be willing to get into a knife-fight with Soran even though they had machine guns with them—” Tieria continued.

“That was easy,” Kujo said.  “I think if you go on like this I might get insulted.”

“That plan was beautiful,” Neil finally managed.  “Can I marry it?”

Kujo looks at him from below carefully angled eyelashes, gaze clearly teasing rather than seductive.  “It’s not available, but I am.”

“The plan’s taste in wine won’t hurt my wallet like yours, ma’am,” Neil said, careful to keep a straight face.

Sumeragi threw her head back and laughed.  “Oh, I _like_ you boys. Come back anytime, I’ll help you out.”

“Really, though, you’re this good and you teach _history_?” Tieria asked.

“This is what I love,” Sumeragi said, running a hand along the edge of the desk.  “And I did consult for the government more often, once.  It ended…badly.  Even I am not always right.” She took a sip of wine; Neil didn’t miss her hand shaking as she held the glass. “But you boys are trying your best not to kill anyone, if you can help it, and you’re good enough to do that and stay alive.  _You_ , I can work with.”

Alle grinned.  “Told you you’d like them.”

“So you did,” Kujo said, grinning at them.  “I’m glad you found a place for yourself, Allelujah.  You look good.”

“I’m a wanted fugitive,” Allelujah said, the edge of a laugh to his tone.

“But you look happy,” Kujo said.  “Besides, your friends are the ones in hot water, really, aren’t they? You plead not guilty by reason of insanity, which means you’re running from the head doctors, not the military.”

Allelujah gave her a weak smile. “Honestly, I’d still rather they didn’t catch me.”

Kujo frowned at him. 

“Don’t worry, ma’am—“ Neil started.

“Professor,” Kujo corrected.

Neil laughed nervously.  “Right.  Sorry.  We’ve got a bit of a backdoor deal with one of the psychs at the place they had him.  Guy named Dr. Moreno.  We check in with him when the captain needs to.”

Kujo relaxed, just a bit.  “Good.  Now, let’s discuss exactly _why_ you need to stop using high-yield explosives near historical monuments.”

“That was an accident!” Soran protested.

Kujo just glared.

* * *

 

_December 23, 1974_

 Soran’s van smelled faintly of Chinese takeout and blood.  The former, because they were bad about throwing out their garbage and honestly the smell of spring rolls just tended to linger, the latter because Soran was bleeding all over Neil’s jeans. 

It wasn’t a serious wound, but it was bleeding more than Neil liked.  They’d be going to a street clinic if there wasn’t a squad of MPs practically breathing down their necks.  So instead Neil was putting pressure on it, Tieria was fumbling through the first aid kit Soran kept stashed with the spare ammo, and Allelujah was driving.  Well, more accurately, Hallelujah probably was.

The fact that they were allowing that was pretty much proof positive of how desperate they were.

“Why are you letting him behind the wheel of my van?” Soran whined.  “I’m not going to die, and you realize I’m going to kill you for this as soon as I can actually do it.”

“We’re counting on you to forget due to blood loss,” Neil said.

“And pain pills, if we still have any,” Tieria muttered. “Besides, he’s not that bad.  And it’s either he drives, or he helps with first aid.”

Soran whimpered.

“Tieria, be nice, he’s hurt,” Neil teased.

Tieria’s answering grin was sickly.

Neil wilted a little.  “I really thought we were close.”

“We all did,” Tieria said, and then actually cursed.  “She told us Corner knew something about the court-martial!”

“Maybe he did,” Neil said bleakly.  “Doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”

“And we don’t even know who did it,” he continued.  “Or why.  Were they pissed off at him?  Did it have something to do with the fact that we were coming to talk to him?”

“Someone could be gunning for us now,” Soran said, voice soft enough to let in a little strain.

“Yeah, yeah they could be,” Neil agreed, wincing as Hallelujah took a corner just a bit too hard.

“Is it even worth asking Wang Liu Mei if she knows anything?” Hallelujah snapped, voice raised to be heard over the van’s aging motor.

“You’re wondering about her too, now?” Neil asked.

“I think we all are,” Tieria said, opening a gauze patch and holding it out to Neil. “If she really didn’t know, that was just a really bad coincidence.  But when have we known her to be anything but meticulous?”

“Which means there’s a good chance she walked us into a trap,” Neil said, quickly taking the guaze and pressing it against Soran’s wound.  It soaked red _far_ too quickly.

“She’s never really been on our side,” Soran pointed out.  “She’s said she wants the LA Underground to change, but if she’s started thinking we can’t deliver, or if someone who _can_ asked her to take us out of the picture…”

Neil winced.  “I was getting fond of her.”

“Apparently, it wasn’t mutual,” Tieria said dryly.  “Speaking of that, we’ve still got a few clips worth of ammunition, in case those MPs actually catch up.”

“There are grenades in the cooler tied down by the backseat,” Soran said.

“ _Why_?” Neil asked.

“The pins are in; they’re completely safe,” Soran said blithely.

“We might not get to use them,” Hallelujah said, sounding put out.  “I think I’ve finally shaken off the MPs.”

“Good,” Neil said.  “Everyone hanging in there?”

“Well, I’m still conscious,” Soran said, belligerent.

“So am I!” Allelujah said cheerily, apparently back in control.  “I’ve got us near the speed limit again, too!”

Tieria was silent.

“Tieria?” Neil pressed.

 “And I thought we might actually be _safe_ after this,” Tieria said softly.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Neil said.

“Do you think there’s evidence out there to find anymore?” Tieria asked, face shaded by his bangs as he stared down at the medical kit.  “Maybe the last of it died with Corner.”

“I know this has been rough, soldier, but there’s no use in thinking like that,” Neil said.  “We’ll prove we’re innocent if we have to break into your old computer lab and build a time machine to do it.”

“That’s impossible, _sir,”_ Tieria said, looking up, a hint of life returning to his expression.

“I don’t want to hear ‘impossible,’ I want to hear how long it’ll take you,” Neil replied, grinning.

“Oooh, a time machine!” Allelujah said from the front.  “I call going to Kitty Hawk!”

“Oh, yes, a plane crash,” Soran said.  “Your favorite thing.”

“Hey, Tieria, could you find the medical tape?” Neil asked.  “My fingers are starting to cramp.”

* * *

 

_March 6, 1974_

Soran slammed the hangar door shut behind them with a grunt. 

Kinue rounded on Neil, face red with exertion, anger, or possibly both.  “That was _not_ what I asked for when I said I needed a ride to the airport,” she snapped.

“We got you here, didn’t we?” Neil asked, smirking.

“Yes, but there are armed men out there trying to _shoot_ us,” Kinue said.  “And we can’t take off without opening the door.”

“Details, details,” Neil said, smirking at her.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got things under control,” Tieria said briskly.

“In what universe?” Kinue demanded.

Allelujah blinked.  “In _this_ one,” he said slowly.  “We can’t _go_ to other universes, remember, rockets aren’t that good yet.”  His tone was clearly patronizing.

Kinue reddened further.  Time to stop playing goad-the-civilian.

“Seriously, the ‘copter’s got guns, and so have we,” Neil said.  “We’ll be just fine.”

“Why are these guys even chasing you?” Kinue asked, clambering into the helicopter.

Neil patted at the pocket of his vest.  “We’ve got something they want.”

Soran rolled his eyes.  “What he means is that one of the kids from the community center I volunteer at finally bit off more than he could chew.  He used to shoplift to feed himself and his siblings, now he just has a bad habit he doesn’t know how to shake.  So he saw what he thought were some costume pearls sitting out at the secondhand store, and only realized what he’d done later.”

“Except when Soran marched poor Michael back there to apologize, the place had been knocked over,” Allelujah said.  “Turns out someone was hiding their stolen jewelry there, in with the costume pieces and junk.”

“The clerk doesn’t like Michael much so she told the thieves who he was and what he looked like,” Neil said.  “The best we could do was wait for them to show up, fight them off, and make sure they knew that _we_ were taking the jewelry and going for the police.”

“So they’d be trying to kill you and not the kids,” Kinue said with a nod.

“But then you called for pickup,” Neil said.  “So we’re just going to make it a little harder to catch up with us than it would have been if we’d stayed in that Jeep we, ahem, _borrowed_ from them.”

“Landing a ‘copter on the LA police headquarters should make an impression,” Allelujah said, with no small amount of satisfaction, as he climbed into the pilot’s seat.

“Well, it’ll do that,” Kinue said, budging over as Neil joined her in the backseat.

“Oi, Tieria, get a move on!” Neil called.  “Those doors won’t hold forever!”

“Right!” Tieria replied, climbing in and squeezing into the back. 

“Ready?” Allelujah called.

“As I’ll ever be,” Soran called back, from beside the hangar door.  “If you get me killed, I’ll haunt you.”

“Do you even believe in ghosts?”

“For you, I’ll be the first,” Soran promised, as the ‘copter’s motor roared to life.

Neil turned to Kinue, sheepish. “Even after all this time, he still hates flying.”

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for canon-typical levels of injury, blood and violence for Gundam 00. Also, discussion of institutionalization and mental health issues. A bit of period-typical sexism, mostly from Neil, who got Hannibal’s tendency to condescend to civilians, which, combined with the gentlemanly streak, doesn’t come off well always.
> 
> The December 1973 scene is very loosely inspired by A-Team Episode 85, “The Sound of Thunder,” and Wang Lui Mei’s place in this AU has certain parallels with A-Team season 5 character Hunt Stockwell, who also functions as an unreliable ally. Setsuna’s injury comes from both Gundam 00 canon and an A-Team episode where BA gets shot and the entire team lands on a normal civilian doctor’s house to demand medical care (it’s a fiasco and I love that episode a lot). 
> 
> This fic draws a bit on sir-neep-scooter’s theories that the Trinity siblings might not be as old as their character profiles say they are; they are thus in this universe part of the group of kids from an LA Community Center who Setsuna mentors. Michael doesn’t actually like Setsuna, Nena has a puppy-love crush on him, and Johann acknowledges him as an authority figure.


End file.
